“The Arja-woman walked by herself.
The pool made a gleaming among the trees.
Said the Arja-woman, ‘Were that water mine,
Surely it would give me strange wealth and bliss!’
The Arja-woman looked around,
The Arja-woman moved through the thick trees.
The Arja-woman sat by the spring.
The water bubbled and the water shone.
‘Why is’t forbid?’ said that lately-made.
Izd, below heard the word she said.
Izd tore the roof so the woman might see.
And under the rent she set the shape.
‘I see down there a strange, fair thing.
I wish it were come more near to me!’
Up rose the shape and clasped her knee.
‘Put your arms around and draw me close,
And wish it to be and it will be.
And we who are two will then be one,
And we shall drink of the Arzan spring!’
The Arja-woman put her arms around,
And drew her close and wished it to be.
The shape entered in; the two were one.
The shape was evil, the shape was Izd.
The Arja-woman grew more fair,
But evil of heart, and a bringer of ill.
Arjaya stooped to the Arzan spring.
She drank the water, she washed therein.
The tabu-water, the sacred spring!”
“Ahhh!” breathed the river-country people, men and women. It was so. They had known it must be so.
“She took a pitcher and drew it full.
On her head she bore it through the grove.
Arja sat in the pleasant shade,
And feathered his arrows bright of hue.
Arja sat by the vineyard edge,
And sang to himself with a merry heart.
He saw Arjaya and he felt a thirst.
She came to Arja through the grove.
‘Arja, hail! Will you have to drink?’
She lowered the pitcher to his hand.
Arzan thundered from the Arzan-stone.”
“Arzan! Give us protection!” cried the rhythmically moving river-country people.
“‘Whence drew you the water?’ asked the Arzan-man.
She stood with anklets of silver fine.
She stood with armlets of burning gold.
She stood with a frontlet starry bright.
She stood in a robe as thin as mist.
And she had within her that witchcraft shape.
She bent herself and she kissed his mouth.
‘Good is the water. I drank. Drink thou!’
Then Arja drank the tabu-water.
Arzan darkened from the mountain-top.”
Arja and Arjaya, and how and when the Golden Age went down.... The river-country people beheld the form of that of which they had long heard rumours, old speech-of-things, passing from people to people, changing shape but keeping substance as it passed! The river-country people both remembered and freshly imagined. “Arzan! Arzan! The sin—the sin!” cried the river-plain. Men believed and women believed.
“He poured down fire and bitter smoke,
The vineyards were blasted, the barley, the wheat.
Day-night, week-month fell fire and ashes.
The flocks and the herds went down to death.
The antlered deer ran out of the earth.
The fish drank the fire, the river sank.
Arzan threw stones from the mountain-top.
They fell like rain, they smote and slew
The sons and daughters, the leaf-wrought folk,
And the pebble-bondmen who drudged for love.
Arja and Arjaya hid under a hill.
Arzan ceased to thunder and pour down fire.
But the land was a withered and briery place.
Arja and Arjaya crept from the cave.
And Arja had sorrow for that great sin.
But Arjaya had Izd coiled round her heart.
Arzan spoke from the Arzan-stone.
‘For vineyard and wheat that grow of themselves,
For golden bow and golden dart,
For antlered deer that never fail,
For ox and horse of a mighty breed,
For shining fish that love the net,
For boats adorned that are never lost,
For houses large and heaps of goods,
For sons of Arja who live in bliss,
For work-folk strong who are glad of toil,
For always-spring, for life all sweet,
Arja, O Arja! tarry and see
What shall fall to you from out my mount,
Because you drank of the tabu-water,
Because you held my power so light,
Because Izd came between you and me!’
Arzan thundered and Arja feared.
Arjaya kneeled upon the ground.
Arzan spoke from the Arzan-stone.
‘Woman I made from the lesser bough,
And gave for help and gave for play.
Now woman shall have the greater pain!
Hers is the sin of the tabu-water,
She turned to Izd and made her her god,
Half Izd she is, that evil snake,
And Arja she harmed, the Arzan-man,
And shut him from the blissful land!
Now take from her her anklets bright,
And take from her her armlets gold.
And take from her her frontlet of stars,
And mark her brow with the mark I show.
In all that is done man shall be head,
Man shall rule and woman serve,
Man shall speak and woman be mute,
Man shall own and woman own not.
Folk shall she bear to fill the land.
The sons shall rule, the daughters serve,
The sons shall speak, the daughters be mute,
The sons shall own, the daughters not.
For the sons are Arzan, the daughters Izd!’”
Ramiki ceased his singing. His heart was freed, and he felt relief and escape, and a cheerful largeness of mood. The anger against Halmis was fallen. There even stole again over his being a fondness for that prophetess. The energy that had boiled within, thick and murky red, had been beautifully worked off by the late improvisation. Diffused and expanded through quite vast ranges, it was no longer an aching and concentrated desire to pay Halmis back and to make evident his own superiority. He became conscious of a tranquillity, of something like vision above vision.... Through this pushed suddenly up, for all the world like a lily in a pond, a willingness, a desire, that Halmis should keep the red band upon her forehead, that she should go, if she would, like a young man, walking alone! But he had made it too late for that!
The people of the river-plain thought it best that women should break no more tabus....